Things I will miss:
The 'back yard.' We live on about an acre of land, and I love all the wide, open space. Out the back door, we look up to jagged mountain peaks, cloaked in dense, emerald bush. I'll miss the constant rustle of the palm trees; the way there are no fences, only hedges; and having our friends and 'adopted grandparents,' Ray and Rongo, living on the same property. Here you can see C and a friend holding a couple of baby chicks.
The lagoon. It is so incredibly beautiful. Even after nearly two years here, it still takes my breath away, it is so brilliantly turquoise. I know I live near the beach back in New Zealand, but having it just over the road is something else. I'll miss being able to carry our plates over to the beach for dinner; swimming three times a day when it's hot; the sound of the waves on the reef at night.
Sunsets. I've become a west coast girl. I try to sit on the beach and watch the sun set as often as I can, even if I stop for only five minutes. Every night it's different. I'll miss 'sunset swims' in the heat of summer, when we go for a swim after dinner. Floating on my back and watching the sky change colour and the stars appearing.
I feel like I've made up for all those years of single motherhood - any motherhood for that matter - when you don't even notice the sun setting because you're in the middle of the dinner-bath-bed routine.
Paddling. This was a total surprise, not something I anticipated getting involved in at all. I'll miss being outside the reef, seeing the bottom of the ocean through deep sapphire waters; crashing up and down the swell when it's rough; pushing myself physically and being the fittest I've ever been. And I'll miss the camaraderie of the other girls on the team.
The animals. We'll miss darling Jasper, who is possibly the world's nicest cat. He has a strange but wonderful habit of actually hugging us, one arm on either side of the neck while he kneads the pillow. Thankfully, Lisa next door is adopting him; so he will be living with Ginger, the brother-cat from his litter. He already regards their house as his anyway, so we know he will be happy.
We'll miss Peeper, our outrageously funny rooster. Never has a pet had so much character - or got into so much trouble. We'll miss him sitting outside on the verandah, peering through the glass at us; we'll miss carrying him out to his cage at night; and the way he makes us laugh with just one look. Even Lisa said she'll miss him, despite the fact that recently he completely destroyed a cheesecake she had made which was sitting on her kitchen bench (he wanders inside other people's houses). Peeper has already gone to stay at the YWAM base, with our friends, the Ene family. So we miss him already.
We'll also miss the animals we don't own, but who are part of our daily lives. The dogs - Lucky, Champ, Buddy, Setanora, Sandy, Sparky and especially Dash, who visits us morning and evening. And all the chickens who wander around our property, and are part of everyday life. We have learned a lot about the lives and habits of chickens.
Bright colours. I'll miss the bright colours which make up the palette of my day: the different shades of turquoise in the lagoon; flowers in my hair and along the road; the lush green of a tropical climate; and the way people wear cheerful, colourful clothes. Whenever we're at the airport when a flight comes in from New Zealand, it's so noticeable how the clothes people are wearing are mainly dark and more serious-looking.
The neighbourhood. We completely fell on our feet when we found this house; and I am staunchly proud of 'my' side of the island and of our village, Titikaveka. What a wonderful community to live in. On one side, we are very close to the neighbour's house, something you'd expect to find annoying. But here it's somehow different: I'll miss hearing Lisa and her girls playing the piano and singing on Friday evenings; and being able to call out "Good morning!" from my kitchen. I'll miss talking to Papa Ray, while he fixes scooters, about everything from theology to Barack Obama. And calling out, "Ma'ata te anga-anga!" to Aunty Rongo and Blondie as we do our raking or weeding (roughly translated, "There's always so much work to do, eh!")
I'll miss the little shop down the road, where our mail gets put into a communal cardboard box, and talking to Karl, the owner. And I'll miss seeing the world go by on the road out the front.
Freedom. I'll miss the way C can wander safely around the neighbourhood and how it doesn't matter if I know where she is or not. The way she can ride her bike for miles, with no helmet; and swim in the lagoon unsupervised; and how I can go for a run or bike ride before breakfast and leave her at home, completely happy. I'll miss feeling 100% safe, 100% of the time, being out at night, with very few street lights, not even thinking about possible danger; and when the only bump in the night is a cat or a dog or a pig.
Warmth. I'll miss the way it is never truly cold in the mornings, and therefore never that hard to get out of bed. The coldest temperature ever recorded in the Cooks - day or night - is I think around 15 degrees C. I'll miss warm evenings, under a black-velvet sky studded with millions of twinkling diamonds. I'll miss hanging the washing - either at night looking up at the sky, or in the daytime when it's blue and hot, and when the clothes are dry in an hour. I'll miss lying on the grass to do my stretches in the mornings (although I won't miss the red ants!)
Foods I have come to love: paw-paw for breakfast every day. Rukau - cooked taro leaves with coconut cream. Fish: wahoo, broadbill, parrot fish, and fresh tuna, just off the boat, for as little as $10 a kilo. Real coconut cream. Giant, juicy passionfruit. Chicken kebab sticks with the special sauce for $5 from the little shop in town. Mayonnaise - the dish as well as the condiment. Soursop. Breadfruit. Mmmm, breadfruit soup. I'll also miss going to the market on Saturday mornings; and eating seasonally... being delighted by the first broccoli or mango.
Church. I'll miss the quiet, contemplative rituals of a traditional island church - a style completely unlike my own church background. I'll miss knowing exactly when we will sit and when we will stand and what song we will sing first. Singing the Lord's Prayer in Cook Islands Maori - one of the most hauntingly beautiful melodies ever. White coral and limestone walls; bush-clad hills through the stained glass windows; a sympony of hats woven from young palm fronds. White dresses on the first Sunday of the month. The 'refreshments' afterwards, as plentiful as lunch, especially slices of cooked taro with tuna on top. (On the left in the photo is Mama Ngaiono, who gives me impromptu language lessons.)
My scooter. I was a nervous rider to begin with, but grew to become a scooter enthusiast. Tootling along, with or without a helmet, chatting to C on the back, the sun on our shoulders, waving to everyone we know. Sometimes we sing as we go along. Yes, it's a pain in the butt when it rains, my goodness how it's a pain. But give two wheels not four any old day.
AAM 595, I will miss you!
Simplicity. Life is no easier here, but it is simpler. One of the things which makes it simpler is that there are fewer choices. There's just one brand of tasty cheese. Just one place to get photographs printed. Only a handful of places you could buy a pair of shorts (and unlikely there'll be a pair in your size anyway). Frustrating, yes. But simple. And I will miss the greater peace of a simpler way of life.
The people. What is a place without people? I'll miss the way Cook Islanders laugh a lot; their overwhelming generosity; their humble way of living. I'll miss living in a community where everyone stops to rest on the Sabbath; where the elderly are given enormous respect; and the family is everything. I'll miss the way you kiss everyone hello and call everyone 'Aunty,' or 'Uncle,' 'Mama' or 'Papa.' Using my rudimentary Cook Islands Maori to buy fish, and watching the lady's face light up behind the counter. Children wandering through our yard with a cheery wave. Having your lawns and garden spotless but never mind about the holes in the walls of the house. The sound of drums beating at night, from yet another celebration or dance practice.
Most of all, I will miss our friends. The most amazing people have been designed and woven into the tivaevae of our time on the island.
*****
* tivaevae: traditional island hand-made quilt or method of sewing.
Our back garden. I planted the two pawpaw trees from seeds out of fruit I was eating. Everything grows so quickly.
Heading out to the boiler on a calm day.
Playing in the water after a sunset dinner.
